


The Counter Strike.

by justascrubwritingquestionablestuff



Category: Madness Combat (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, Revenge Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Swearing, also me reading the tags myself: s o b s, me watching you read the tags: w h e e z e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justascrubwritingquestionablestuff/pseuds/justascrubwritingquestionablestuff
Summary: To begin with, Hank was fuelled with a rage that would only be satisfied by the sweet, cold dish of revenge.
Relationships: Hank J. Wimbleton/Tricky the Clown (Madness Combat)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	The Counter Strike.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fallenmemes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenmemes/gifts).



> Ya’ll asked for it, I don’t even know if I ship this shit or not—

Tricky had let his guard down at ‘The Bakery!’.

And god, did he regret doing that.

To begin with, Hank was fuelled with a rage that would only be satisfied by the sweet, cold dish of revenge. When the clown had tied him to that bedpost in the Flying Party and milked all the humanity and decency that he had left, not even a massacre of 50-80 odd people could calm him down. This had gotten personal between the two of them now, and he needed something that would destroy Tricky as well.

So when he dreamt about that fateful night, he woke up with a sadistic pride stretching the corners of his mangled mouth upwards in a twisted grimace, for he had the perfect idea for exacting his revenge.

*&£&*

“Who’s the bitch now, you fucker?” Hank growled breathlessly, working Tricky’s member over with such fervour that the clown thought he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week afterwards. He lightly thumped his fists against the wall behind him, moaning with such a lack of restraint that Hank almost worried that someone would come out of the shop and see them (he had a reputation to hold up after all). “You think you can just toy with me like some plaything? Well I’m here to tell you, I’m the top dog here, you little shit.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tricky gritted out, hips spasming randomly. “actually, the bitch is- is the bottom, so you’re wrong.” he giggled slightly, before moaning yet again, as Hank ran a rough and worn-out thumb over the head of his length.

“Don’t try to make jokes. You’re supposed to be realising what a worthless prick you are.” Hank grunted, finally squeezing the clown’s dick hard and forcing him to release yet another streak of white (it was very slightly pink though, which made the killer wonder if it was like flavoured lube). Tricky slumped against the wall, but was held up by Hank’s strong arms (they don’t have arms, I know). He propped the clown up, and spread his legs apart so that his own cock would be able to slide into his hole properly, and then snapped his hips forwards and drove it home.

Tricky almost sobbed, whining pitifully, desperate to stop this, seeing as everything in his body ached both deliciously and painfully. But he humped against Hank’s abdomen in time, wanting to finish this off quickly to spare himself anymore of the humiliation that burned deep inside of him. He liked it when the killer feared HIS power, when Hank simply wished that he could just be put down and killed once and for all - but most of all, Hank making him actually like being a bottom was mind-shattering.

“Fucking hell,” Hank panted, holding Tricky's wrists above his head as he rammed him up the wall. “you thought I was tight? It’s like you’ve got lockjaw down there!”

The clown’s shaky and hesitant laugh very quickly died down to panting and whimpering, as he finally finished off with a quiet moan. A few sharp thrusts followed after, and Hank keened as he came and splattered Tricky’s stomach. The pair stayed there for a moment, processing what they had just done, and the clown was shaking, even after Hank pulled out of him with a low grunt.

“I’m not surprised you couldn’t even last the first one,” he stepped back, zipping his pants up and letting Tricky slide down the wall and onto his ass. “you’re a weak little freak, that’s what.”

He took a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it with his thumb-lighter (Deimos taught him how to do that). He ignored Tricky’s irritable giggles, but spat his cigarette out with malice at his next words.

“I think we should go out together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next time I get a Hank/Tricky request I’m gonna write ya’ll a fluffy Deimos/Sanford thing, you funny lot-


End file.
